Seven Dumb Things I Did and Didn't Do Freshman Year of College

My niece has begun her freshman year of college, so every few days I scan her Facebook page for recent news. Finally the first photograph is posted. She's standing arm in arm with six new girlfriends, excited, happy, hopeful. It's titled, with supersized conviction, “WE ARE...”

That was me, I think to myself. And then, before I know it, I'm Monday morning quarterbacking my own freshman year 32 years ago.

Hindsight is like that. It thumps you on the head after you've messed up and can't do anything about it—except, of course, to try to not repeat the same mistakes and, if possible, to pass it on. Like a road, experience begs to be shared.

And so, what follows below is for all college freshmen. They'll know whether they can apply it to their lives, now that they're traveling the same road I did.

After all, WE ARE...each on our own individual journeys, with our own lessons to learn.

1. I gave a part of myself away for a friend. She was already in a sorority, so I pledged hers instead of the one I wanted. I was afraid if I didn't our relationship would suffer. And it might have, but a true friend wants me to do what's best for me.

Fortunately, it was and is a great sorority. My favorite actress is even a sister, as is an amazing U.S. First Lady. But still I wonder what might have been had I followed my heart, not fear.

2. I didn't have the courage to be honest. I agreed to a date with a guy I didn't want to go out with and then phoned him to cancel it. Worse, because our conversation was growing long, I began unscrewing the mouthpiece on the receiver to create interference on the line. Then I hung up, hoping he'd assume I had telephone issues, instead of a wussy personality. No surprise, he never called back.

3. I ate to ease boredom or tension, even when I wasn't hungry—or skipped meals altogether--ignoring my body's innate rhythm. Eventually it became a habit, and by the time I graduated I'd forgotten how to eat naturally and healthfully. It was years before I finally learned to trust and follow my instinct again.

4. For fun I tried smoking, but got hooked. I quit 10 years later when I got asthma. I was luckier than my father; he died of emphysema.

5. I didn't keep in touch with my old friends and eventually lost contact completely. Thanks to Facebook, I've begun renewing some of those friendships. But I've missed out on sharing so many weddings, births and more, which I wish I hadn't.

6. I parroted other people's ideas instead of forming my own. I even skipped classes, as well as the assigned books, and memorized Cliff Notes. If it hadn't been for a professor early in my sophomore year, I might have continued on that path. But she didn't want her students to repeat by rote what others thought; she wanted to know what we thought. She cared about our opinions, what we actually believed, and it changed me forever. It taught me the importance and value of questioning and challenging, forming my own ideas. Of staying teachable--even by those I don't particularly like--but also of making my own conclusions.  Ultimately, adopting another person's concepts without question reflects a lack of self-respect.

7. I judged a stranger's character by his (future) profession--and didn't choose a public place to meet for a first date. He came to my dorm after dark; we walked to a quiet spot on campus, sat down on the grass and began talking. One thing led to another and we were kissing. Before I knew it, I was sprawled out flat with him on top of me. No guy had ever moved that quickly before; I knew something was wrong. I told him I wasn't comfortable, and told him again, but he wouldn't listen. Finally I threatened to scream if he didn't get off me--which he did, thank God, and I never saw him again. But here's a scary thought: He was a medical student, studying to be an Ob/Gyn. Or so he said.

Me, Rigid?

A thin line separates self-care from selfishness, and I wonder if sometimes I have unwittingly crossed it by digging in my heals over things that no longer serve me.

Such as where to sit on an airplane.

I don't remember when I concluded, “I must sit in an aisle seat”. Maybe it was when I started drinking two liters of water everyday. Or when I decided I wanted to be able to exit an airplane as quickly as possible when we landed--or if we crashed. That's the optimist in me. Or pessimist. I'm not sure which.

I hadn't thought about it until a friend told me about something that happened on her honeymoon. It got her wondering if her own heel digging might be self-care gone petrified.

Or, as she calls it, rigidity.

“I thought it might be a good topic for your column,” she said. But I had a feeling it was her way of saying we might have this affliction in common.

My friend confessed that her do-not-cross boundary when it comes to air travel happens to be the window seat, and when she and her new husband boarded the airplane on their honeymoon a 12-year-old boy was sitting in her seat—until she told him otherwise.

“Did you just make that little boy move?” her groom said.

Of course my friend, who's really a softie, felt like an ogre. So as soon as the “fasten seat belt” sign went off, she asked the boy if he wanted the window seat, and he said he did, so she gave it to him. Now, she says, she's working on loosening her clinch on her boundaries.

But we have to be aware of our boundaries to know if we are being too rigid with them, and it wasn't so long ago that I was oblivious to many of mine until somebody stumbled over one, at which point I realized, Ouch!

Or Ick. As in the case of my first blind date. I was a freshman in college and he was a famous Big 10 football player. He wasn't typically my type but he was attractive in a big, strong guy sort of way—and he wore a jacket and tie and took me to an expensive restaurant with candlelight and white tablecloths and matching napkins.

But he did something I would have never thought to put on my “do not cross this line” list until I had actually experienced it. A waiter brought a telephone to our table with what must have been a 30-foot cord—it was pre-cell phone 1978. And as the diamond chunk in his left earlobe sparkled like the shining star I thought he was, my date dipped his napkin into his water glass, wiped the sides of his nostrils, and proceeded to make bets with his bookie.

So that's how I learned about boundaries initially—by experiencing someone doing something I found disrespectful and respecting myself enough not to put myself in the situation again. But there were other boundaries I set then erased for fear of disappointing others. Until I began this column, I had difficulty telling people I was unavailable during the times I reserved for writing. Because I wasn't yet published, I thought they wouldn't understand why I chose writing over being with them.

And then someone said, “If you don't take your writing seriously why would anyone else?”

It was a needed reality check: I teach others how to treat me by how I treat myself.

Sometimes I still feel guilty over some boundaries I set, but I'm working on that—on shaking off the untruth that says love requires giving even when I bleed. It's okay to say no if I believe the giving will hurt.

Thanks to my friend, I now know I also need to re-evaluate my boundaries once in a while. Instead of setting them globally or for a lifetime, it's better to be open and flexible. I am growing and changing, so it's only natural that my boundaries should, too.

As for the next time I fly, I plan to request an aisle seat but I won't be as rigid about it, in case someone else needs it more.

Like a 12-year-old boy.

Or somebody who drinks more water than me.

QUESTION: What, if any, boundaries are you holding onto that no longer serve you?

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